


Self-Preservation

by thehotdagaisgood



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Criminals, Alternate Universe - Detectives, Dr Fear is a crime lord not a doctor, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Slow Burn, Tinsley is an anxious alcoholic and a crooked cop, Unhealthy Relationships, first fic ive put out there for people to read so be gentle, it'll get gay just give it time, shane as cc and ryan as ricky obv
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-05
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-05-18 11:30:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14851928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thehotdagaisgood/pseuds/thehotdagaisgood
Summary: C. C. Tinsley: full time detective, part time unwilling criminalRicky Goldsworth: full time criminalWhen a serial killer begins wreaking havoc on Los Angeles, Tinsley's desperate to find a suspect. That is, if that suspect won't reveal the details of Tinsley's own crimes.





	1. Chapter 1

           The man stared stiffly at the board in front of him, string stretched between photos of carnage and newspaper articles. His eyes were dull and glazed, hoping again that an idea would materialize in front of him. He stalked away from the board and collapsed in his desk chair. The gold nameplate on the edge of his desk read, “Detective C.C. Tinsley”.

           Somehow it was oppressively hot in the office tonight, custodial must have been turning off the AC at the night in response to budget cuts. Tinsley dragged a palm across his slick face before pouring a drink from a dark bottle that lived in the deepest drawer of his desk. All the other detectives had thankfully left. The detective always craved privacy in times of utter failure.

           The scene he and his fellow investigators had arrived upon this morning left a nausea that still lingered in his stomach as the clock struck midnight. They’d found three women bound in a hotel room with stab wounds littered across their bodies, all with their throats roughly slashed.

           Tinsley covered his mouth suddenly, the scotch mingling with his memories to threaten the contents of his stomach. He shuddered, glancing back at his mess of an investigation spread across the wood board. The amount of carnage he had encountered on the scene was disturbing—it would have appeared to have been committed by someone the victims knew—a crime of passion. He finished his drink and immediately poured another. That is, if it had been an isolated event.

            Angelica Chirhart: 20 years old, blonde, full time college student and a mother. She’d been found the morning of May 2nd on the floor of her studio apartment in a pool of blood. Tinsley brushed his fingers across her crime scene photos for a moment. She’d only been dead for about twelve hours before the LAPD had arrived on the scene. There wasn’t a single fingerprint or stray hair found in the apartment.

            Cassidy Lee: May 18th, 31 years old, brunette. Just gazing at the photo of her body again made Tinsley’s chest ache. He hadn’t known her, but she looked far too familiar. That frizzy brown hair and those dark eyes. She’d been strangled and stabbed 18 times in the chest.

            Desiree Callahan: June 1st, 27 years old, 36 stab wounds to the chest.

            Anise Williams: June 8th, 31, 27 stab wounds.

            Janette Mackenzie: June 20th, 21, 40 stab wounds.

            Tinsley realized his hands were shaking violently. He drew himself away from the photos plastered on his case board. The killer was stepping up his game by leaving behind three bodies at a single crime scene. There had never been a case prior to this one that made Tinsley feel so helpless, so incompetent. There wasn’t a single forensic clue for him to follow. The only reason his department had been able to deduce it was the work of a serial killer was the relative proximity of the crimes to one another and their similar brutality.

           Tinsley felt like if he didn’t have someone that even resembled a suspect within the next two weeks he was going to blow his brains out. Or somebody’s. But probably his own. Between swallowing the last of his second drink and beginning to pour yet another, his phone lit up on his desk. A guttural groan escaped him as he threw his head back. He didn’t even have to check his phone. There’s only one person who would be contacting him at this time.

-where are you

            Tinsley’s eyes drooped as another text appeared.

-1485 10th  st we need to talk

**⸫**

            “ _Jesus Christ, Tinsley”_.

A bright light suddenly blinded the man as he jerked upwards from his previous slump in his chair. Detective Holly Horsely stood in his office doorway, a disgusted look on her face. Fuck, what time was it?

           “Oh—I, I must have dozed off for a minute,” Tinsley said, his mouth impossibly dry. Horsely tilted her head, her long brown hair pulled into a tight bun on the top of her head.

           “You look like shit”. The detective glanced down at himself, his tie wrapped loosely around his neck and his shirt rumpled and unbuttoned with remnants of his drink staining the front of it. His brown eyes widened in fear as he realized his glass and bottle of booze were still resting on his desk. His eyes flashed to Horsely, filled with deperation.

           “Holly, I—”. Her face was a combination of disgust and pity. “Please don’t say anything to the chief, Holly”. She sighed heavily and looked at the floor.

“Just get the fuck out of here, Tinsley. Go home”. She grabbed the bottle and dumped its remnants down his bathroom sink.

           “Right, uh, thanks,” Tinsley breathed as he gathered his suit jacket and phone and quickly left the station. The L.A. sunlight felt like a knife through his head. His hands shook. He only swerved a little as he drove back to his apartment.

           Tinsley yelled and pitched his suit coat across his living room. How the fuck did he let that happen? Getting all boozed up and passing out at the station? His bony hands shook as he opened a window and lit a cigarette, feeling like his lungs were about to collapse. The last thing he needed was the chief breathing down his neck. His phone buzzed and his stomach dropped. Fuck. Forgot about that. Tinsley winced around his cigarette as he opened the message.

-tinsley?

-i don’t know who the fuck you think you are

-take a shower

            Only the last message had just arrived. Tinsley swallowed heavily and threw his phone down onto this coffee table. He stalked cautiously to his bathroom and peeled back the shower curtain. Sitting atop the drain was a thick envelope with his name written on it. Tinsley scooped it up and immediately tore it open. Was this really necessary?

            _Tinsley-_

_I have a job for you._

**** _Go to the bar on 10 th around midnight._

_There’ll be a man in a red ball cap with further instructions._

            _Take these, you’ll need them_

                        _-F_

            Inside the envelope was a small page of stick-on mustaches. Tinsley groaned. This had to be a joke.

**⸫**

            Tinsley’s shitty hatchback swerved quickly down the highway. The interior of the car was only lit by the occasional beam of a streetlight. Tinsley pulled a beer from the center console and took a few thick swigs. He pulled off his exit, made a few turns, and pulled into the dingy bar parking lot.

           Tinsley itched at his upper lip as he tossed the empty beer bottle into the bushes behind him. Shitty acrylic hair itched back. He felt like an idiot for actually adorning the terrible facial hair that had come in the envelope, but god be damned if he was about to walk into this without some kind of a disguise. He had ditched his usual sloppy edition of a detective’s uniform, instead wearing a loose hoodie he hadn’t looked at in years with some dark jeans. Which, clearly, didn’t mix with the shitty bandit mustache glued to his face.

           A bright red ball cap immediately caught his eye from across the bar. Tinsley winced at the blinding scent of sweat, beer, and cheap cologne that struck him as he entered. He kept his head down as he wound through the small crowd of patrons in the bar, praying to god that no one would recognize him. Tinsley slid into the booth opposite the man in the red hat. He was much shorter than himself, with tanned skin and beady eyes that met his own.

           They both stared at each other in silence for a moment, sizing each other up. A smile crossed the short man’s face.

 “Fear sent you?” Tinsley clenched his jaw and nodded silently. He didn’t know anyone actually called him that. “Excellent,” He extended a hand to Tinsley across the table, “Ricky Goldsworth”. The grin on the man’s face was uncomfortable to look at. It stayed static on his face much longer than a smile of that intensity typically would. Something about it made Tinsley cringe. His teeth were white and straight like a military cemetery, yet somehow gave the impression of a shark.

           Tinsley shook his hand nervously, “B-Banjo McClintock”. Goldsworth smiled wider somehow and narrowed his eyes incredulously at him.

“Banjo McClintock, huh?” Really, that was the best he could come up with? Tinsley cursed himself in his head but just stared back at Goldsworth with a blank face.

           “If that ain’t the fakest shit I’ve ever heard.” Ricky snickered and finished the drink that sat in front of him. “But I can work with that”. He stood suddenly, grabbing Tinsley’s arm and dragging him from his chair. He was small but, damn, he was pretty strong. He kept his grip on his arm and pulled Tinsley all the way out of the bar. Tinsley, or, Banjo I suppose, recoiled and pulled away from him as soon as they were outside.

           “What are we doing?” He asked pointedly at Goldsworth, as the man unlocked and climbed into a sleek black sportscar parked in front of the bar. Tinsley stooped down to look at the man through the window. Goldsworth leaned over the center console and threw open the passenger’s door for him. The uncomfortable grin was back on his face.

“We’re stealin’ art baby”.

**⸫**

            Tinsley wasn’t certain what speed Goldsworth was driving at, but it was fast enough to make him nervous. His stomach sloshed slightly, his anxiety making him second guess whether he should have had that beer on the way over. A strange object hanging from the man’s rearview mirror suddenly caught his attention. It was an old necklace; the significant size of the pendant was almost tacky. There was a ruby in the center that was surrounded by other gems, all laid in delicately shaped gold. Tinsley wished for a moment he could steal it—it looked like it would be worth something—move somewhere new and start over.

           That decoration wasn’t exactly of the caliber of fuzzy dice. Who the fuck was this guy? Tinsley’s guard was up, and rightfully so. He was uncertain exactly what kind of a person this Goldsworth was. He hoped he was just another bum being forced into this like him, but he may be a real full-blooded criminal. Part of him wondered if he knew the difference anymore.

           Goldsworth handed him a sheet of paper without taking his eyes off the road.

“Los Angeles County Museum of Art. They only have one guard on duty at this time of night”. The sheet of paper held the address of the museum and a list of the paintings they were to try and procure. Tinsley swallowed thickly. He had always wondered what prison food tasted like.

“I take it you’ve already cased the place?” Tinsley posed, glancing at the layout of the museum on the bottom of the page.

           Goldsworth giggled. Tinsley wrinkled his nose. That was an uncomfortable sound to come from grown man. “Yeah—Yeah, I have,” He responded, exiting the highway. “We’ll restrain the guards and then you take the second floor and gather everything you can find that’s on the list”. The car suddenly screeched to a halt, the tires skidding on the pavement. Tinsley just barely caught himself from smashing his head against the dashboard.

“ _What the fuck_?” He glanced over and saw the smaller man had already exited the car and was opening the trunk.

           With a heavy sigh, Tinsley begrudgingly exited the car and walked back towards the trunk. “Put this on,” Goldsworth pitched a pile of dark clothing at him. Tinsley inspected it for a moment, realizing what it was rather quickly.

“Really, cop uniforms?” All he got in response was a shrug from the other man. A dull pain manifested in Tinsley’s chest as he shuffled behind a bush to change into the uniform. He pinned the comically inaccurate badge to his breast pocket.

           Glancing down at himself, Tinsley thought he was going to cry. The dark button up and duty belt dragged his mind back to a simpler time. A hot June afternoon in the sun, surrounded by his fellow cadets, the commencement speaker’s voice in his ears. Riding in his old squad, his ex-partner flashing him a shy smile as she radioed back to dispatch. Coffee and donuts at the station. They were no more than fragments of memories of a life lost. Now Tinsley really thought he was going to vomit.

           “ _Christ_ , are you finished yet?” Tinsley shook his head quickly, trying to shake away his thoughts like a dusty clump of cobwebs. He grazed his fingers along the gun and knife holstered together on his duty belt.

“Yeah, let’s do this thing,” he muttered as the two of them started towards the front doors of the museum.

           It wasn’t hard to get the guard at the desk to allow their entrance. He was easily intimidated by police officers demanding entry. Or—at least one police officer and one imposter. Once Goldsworth had coaxed the man away from the desk, and undoubtedly the silent alarm, he suddenly cuffed the man’s hands and knocked him to the ground.

           “Yo, what the _fuck_?” The man cried, his head having knocked pretty hard against the wall. Tinsley stared at the man as Goldsworth wrestled rope from his duty belt for the man’s feet.

“This is a robbery,” Tinsley said simply, pointing his gun at the man. Goldsworth shot him a glance but Tinsley didn’t look in his direction to see what it was. “Just cooperate and you won’t get hurt”.

           “Let’s take ‘im over here,” Goldsworth said, picking the man up by one of his arms. Tinsley holstered his gun and grabbed his other. They shuffled him into a stairwell off the main entrance of the gallery and dropped him unceremoniously onto the floor. Goldsworth and Tinsley met eyes for a moment. Tinsley’s previous apprehension was gone, his face blank of emotion. He found himself numb to what was going on around him. Goldsworth gestured up the stairs,

“Alright, go get the shit and be back down here in ten minutes or I’m leaving without you”.

           Tinsley took off up the stairs quickly, darting through the gallery in search of the paintings Fear had placed on their “to-steal list”. The lanky man moved on autopilot, but with a sense of certainty. He sliced a Rembrandt from its frame with the blade on his belt, a Picasso, a Monet, another Rembrandt. Before he realized it, he had six paintings or so rolled and in his arms. This was far easier than it should be. He took the stairs down two at a time, passing by the security guard with barely a glance. Goldsworth was already back in the entryway of the gallery, his arms also full of paintings. He flashed him another shark grin and they made a quick exit from the gallery.

           With the paintings in the back of Goldsworth’s sports car, they flew down the highway back in the direction of the bar. Ricky screamed suddenly and stomped on the gas of the car even harder.

 “Exhilarating, isn’t it?” Tinsley’s hands were folded in his lap. He didn’t look at the uncomfortable grin that undoubtedly occupied the other man’s face, staring blankly out the window.

           Goldsworth seemed to take the hint that he didn’t feel like talking, as he didn’t say another word until they were back in the now empty parking lot of the bar. As soon as the car had stopped moving, Tinsley tried to open the car door to find it was locked.

“Damn, got somewhere to be?” Goldsworth laughed, his head tilted as he gazed at the other man. Tinsley met his gaze only for a second, instead pulling off his button up and grabbing his previously discarded clothes from the footwell of the car.

           “It’s been awhile since I’ve had a man undressing in my car”. Tinsley wasn’t even listening to him. He quickly slid his jeans back on and stared sharply at Goldsworth, waiting for him to unlock the door. “Not much of a talker, are ya?” The question came with an uncomfortable grin. Tinsley continued staring blankly. “Well,” Ricky cleared his throat, “It’s been fun, Banjo”. He unlocked the car door and Tinsley immediately climbed out, speed walking towards his own car.

           Once back in the safety of his hatchback, Tinsley’s breath came in ragged gasps. His knuckles whitened on his steering wheel as he felt himself start to hyperventilate. His heart felt as if it was about to pound out of his chest as he watched Goldsworth’s car not move from the other side of the parking lot. There wasn’t a chance in hell that Tinsley would leave first, he didn’t want to give anyone the chance to follow him home.

           It was likely no more than 15 minutes that the two of them stared at each other from their respective cars, but it felt like hours. Eventually he watched Goldsworth’s car turn back on and slink silently from the parking lot, disappearing onto the dark street. Tinsley’s head hit his steering wheel as he failed to stifle the sobs that erupted from his chest.

**⸫**


	2. Chapter 2

            The sharp ring of his cellphone awoke Tinsley from his slumber. He sat up suddenly, still dressed in clothes from the night before. Shit, it was Horsely.

“T-Tinsley speaking,” He grunted sleepily into his phone.

“Yeah, Cecil, I’m gonna need you at 300 Mulberry, we’ve got a body”. His stomach dropped as he leapt from the bed, panicking earlier in the morning than he had for quite a while.

            “I’ll be there in 15”. He hung up his phone and chucked it across the room. There had never been another murder so soon after the last one before. Tinsley stared at himself in the mirror across his bedroom. He had dark circles under his eyes from his lack of rest the night before. The urge to kill himself sat like a stone in his chest. What the fuck kind of cop spends his night out committing a crime instead of preventing another murder?

            This victim was much older than the others. Tinsley noticed this immediately once he was at the scene. The carnage was much of the same, though. A number of stab wounds he couldn’t physically comprehend littered the woman’s bare chest. Blood was on her, pooled around her body, and spattered on the apartment’s walls.

            “The attack matches our killer’s usual M.O.,” Horsely said from behind him, “But this one seems to have a motive”. Tinsley peeled his eyes off the woman’s wounds.

“What makes you say that?” Horsely gestured to the open dresser drawers next to the woman’s bed.

“Victim’s name is Gertrude Meinen, a billionaire widow. Her husband was a successful businessman before he died. Gertrude collected rare and valuable jewelry. It looks like robbery was a motive”.

            Tinsley nodded slowly, walking over to the open drawers. There was a significant amount of jewelry still within them, but it was clear they had been dug through. “Do we have anything confirmed missing?” Horsely pulled a sheet of paper from the inner pocket of her suit coat, handing it over to him.

“We got off the phone with her daughter a little while ago. She said if something would be missing, it’d be this. It’s a Burmese ruby necklace worth a couple million”.

Tinsley felt the blood drain out of his face. “And it hasn’t been located?”

            Horsely shook her head, meeting Tinsley’s eyes. Her brow furrowed as she scanned the man’s face, “Are you alright?” The pity was back in her expression. Tinsley sighed, folding the piece of paper back up and sticking it into his pocket. He was aware he probably looked even worse than he had yesterday morning. At least today’s dress shirt wasn’t stained with booze.

            He held his partner’s gaze, his mouth open but words failing to appear. That said more than he wanted it to. Holly leaned closer to him, speaking softly, “If you need off this case, or just a few days of vacay, I can talk to the chief for you. I know it hasn’t been long since—”

“No,” Tinsley cut her off, a quiet anger clear in his voice, “That’s not necessary. It’s just all these bodies with no leads…” his voice trailed off. Holly nodded, her face apologetic for having upset him.

“No, I get it Cecil. Just—just let me know if you need anything”.

            With that he walked away from his partner and stepped outside of the apartment. Once outside of the view of his fellow detectives, he promptly doubled over and vomited over Gertrude’s white picket fence. Memories from last night played before him. He pulled the picture of the necklace from his pocket and stared at it in his shaking hands.

That was definitely it. That was the necklace hanging from the rearview mirror of Ricky Goldsworth’s car.

**⸫**

            Tinsley paced back and forth in his office, eyeing his case board with more intensity and fervor than before. He had a suspect. He hadn’t felt this good in the last month. It was an extremely small victory, given he had no real clue who Ricky Goldsworth was, and wasn’t certain how he was going to explain his suspect to the rest of the staff, but it felt like a victory nonetheless. A shiver crosses his spine at the thought of having been in such close proximity to someone related to his case.

            The liquor stayed in his desk for the night. Tinsley sipped at coffee instead and sat hunched over his laptop late into the evening. He hoped the internet could enlighten him as to who Ricky Goldsworth was, but he wasn’t turning up much in the way of information. Searching the police database hadn’t turned up any leads for him, the guy didn’t seem to have any kind of an arrest record or public record of an address.

            The only noteworthy thing Tinsley could recall about the man was his extravagant car. He sighed and shut his laptop. God what he’d give to be a car guy right now. It had seemed to be some kind of foreign muscle car, but Tinsley hadn’t a clue as to what the make or model was. He glanced at the clock. It was getting late. He hadn’t been up this late in awhile on a night he wasn’t having a break down. It was refreshing, almost.

            He dumped his coffee and locked up his office. He figured he should take advantage of a chance to get some sleep before he was due back at work in the morning. Sure, Goldsworth was out there, but now Tinsley at least had someone to start investigating. His head hit his pillow softer than it had in quite awhile

**⸫**

            The following evening Tinsley found himself back in the parking lot of the bar on 10th. He didn’t have to be into work the following morning, so he felt himself a bit freer to conduct some solo investigation. His hatchback sat in the parking spot it had the other night, obscured by shadows of a tree. He kept the headlights off, leaned back in the driver’s seat, and chain smoked in silence as he watched over the cars of the parking lot.

            No cars that even resembled Goldsworth’s were in the parking lot, but he sat and waited anyways. When Tinsley found himself on his last cigarette, an idea came to him. He picked up his cellphone. Well, this would be a first.

hey-

do you have any extra jobs you need done-

im pretty strapped for cash-

            Tinsley felt a lump form in his throat. He regretted having sent the texts almost immediately. Sure, he did what Fear asked when he contacted him, but seeking out more ways to get involved was a disturbing concept. When Fear asked he didn’t have a choice. This, however, was harder to reconcile with his sense of morality.

-well isn’t this an interesting development

-i do, but what a pleasant surprise it is that mr detective is looking to make a quick dollar like the rest of us

just tell me what to do-

**⸫**

            He had only actually seen Fear in the flesh twice. Tinsley didn’t know much of anything about who he actually was, or the extent of what he did. He had his ideas, sure, but a guy like Fear tended to keep a distance between himself and those he worked with. He imagined it came out of a need for self-preservation. As much as he hated the man for what he made him do, Tinsley couldn’t fault him for that.

            Tinsley felt the nausea bubbling in his stomach again, anxiety starting to fester in his throat, as he realized he might be seeing Fear in person tonight. It had been quite a while. Somehow, their entire situation seemed much more dangerous when they saw each other in person. Sure, Fear knew who Tinsley was; he knew he was a cop, he knew where he lived, yet he felt like a less menacing presence in his life when their interactions were limited to words on his phone screen.

            When he stepped out of his car into the empty park, Tinsley saw nothing but a stout silhouette of a man standing beneath the tree cover. Light didn’t reach far past the edge of the park due to a scarcity of street lights. It had to be him. Tinsley shifted his belt to feel the weight of his pistol tucked within it, hoping to find some comfort in the sensation.

            “Detective, you came”. The man’s voice was rough and hoarse with age, but of an uncanny high pitch. Neither the man’s voice nor appearance seemed to properly reflect what he was. Fear’s insistence to greet him with “Detective” made Tinsley sweat despite the chill in the night air. He was thankful the park appeared to be empty. “I was impressed with what you managed to accomplish at the gallery. You’ve made me a very happy man”.

            Once Tinsley was close enough, he could actually get a good look at the man. Fear was a short man with a beer belly and large blue eyes magnified by coke bottle glasses. A small yellow-toothed smile crossed his face. He resembled a neighbor you’d invite to a barbecue who kept pictures of his children in his wallet. Tinsley found him so ordinary it made him uncomfortable. The only peculiar thing about the man on a face-level was the stethoscope draped over his shoulders. It seemed he always kept it with him.

            “What have you got for me?” Tinsley said quietly. The man handed him a package with an envelope taped to it.

“Take this to the address in the note. I’ll leave another package for you at your apartment next week to also deliver and, if you manage to pull this off, money for your trouble”. Tinsley clenched his jaw and hoped his wince wasn’t visible as he stared at the package in his hands. He could smell a chemical odor that emanated from within the plastic covering. “Detective, you aren’t getting cold feet, are you?”

            “No,” His response was but a quiet grunt. Fear chuckled in response. “Good, just don’t forget who’s in charge here”. Tinsley swallowed. “How’s Sara, you visit her lately?” Tinsley’s face got hot, feeling his anger flare up at the man’s words. He tucked the package under his arm and stalked back towards his car without another word. Hopefully Fear didn’t see his hands shaking as he did.

            Tinsley tore open the envelope and read the address on the paper. He prayed it was Ricky’s, though he knew the chances were slim. Fear’s words weren’t sitting well with him as he drove to his delivery. His chest ached, he drove faster. He hadn’t visited.

**⸫**

            Tinsley’s fist connected with the drywall of his apartment wall. He seethed and stalked over to his kitchen to grab his whiskey in hopes of drowning the guilt in his stomach. The delivery had been a waste of time. When he had knocked on the door of the house, it wasn’t Ricky that answered. Instead, it was just some skinny junky that twitched with each word he said. Tinsley hated himself for getting even more involved with Fear. He threw his head back and downed the drink in a single go.

            The man stopped suddenly as he glanced around his kitchen. His pile of dirty dishes wasting away in his sink were no longer there. Tinsley popped open his cupboard, confused. They were inside, dry and clean. It crossed his mind for a moment that he may have blacked out at some point and done them, but his right hand rested on his gun anyways. Fear had broken into his apartment before, but it didn’t make sense for him to come in and do his fucking dishes. The guy had a lot of irons in the fire, and, hell, he had just saw him.

            His hand drew his gun from his hip as he shut his cupboard silently. Tinsley took a few steps deeper into his apartment, quickly scanned his bathroom, and gently nudged open the door to his bedroom. It appeared empty as well, and Tinsley lowered his gun slightly. His bed was made neatly, and the blankets were no longer awry as he had left them this morning. He quickly crouched to glance under his bed and shifted around the hanging clothes in his closet with barrel of his gun pistol. No one was there.

            Tinsley furrowed his brow in confusion, but still felt his heart pound nervously. Maybe it had been Fear. Maybe he was just trying to play mind games with him, remind him of how much control he had over his life. He quickly holstered his gun and stalked back into the kitchen. Tinsley took a quick swig from the bottle he had left sitting on the table, trying to ease his anxiety over someone having broken into his house again.

            The fact he would have another package to deliver in a week hung in the back of his mind, but Tinsley refused to recognize that in an attempt to avoid a complete meltdown. His gaze caught on the photo frame propped up on his bedside table. He grabbed it and carried it over to the kitchen table where he sat. He poured another drink and sipped it silently. His head spun for a moment. He knew he was drinking too quickly to last the entire night. Water gathered in his eyes. Tinsley wasn’t certain if it was from the burn of the liquor or the smile of the woman in the picture frame.

Maybe he should visit.

**⸫**

            It had been quiet for a few weeks. No bodies, no Goldsworth, no police busting down Tinsley’s door to arrest him. Reports on the art heist had begun to fade from newspapers. That lifted a bit of the weight on Tinsley’s shoulders. Fear’s deliveries had almost become routine to him now, though he wasn’t proud of it. Every Friday morning, there’d be a new package in his mailbox for him to deliver that night. He hadn’t dared to open one of the packages himself but, given his impressions of the clientele who received the packages, it was definitely some kind of drug.

            As much as it pained his cop heart, he wished he could just stick with running drugs now as opposed to the sporadic high-risk schemes Fear had given him the past nine months. He knew it wasn’t possible, though. He was getting paid for this. He was getting paid very well. There wasn’t a chance Fear would let this relationship change into something mutually beneficial when he knew very well that Tinsley would do as he asked for free.

            Tinsley rubbed his eyes roughly with his fists and shut his case files. He didn’t know how long he had stared at the contents without actually absorbing anything he was reading. It was not that there was anything new in there for him to learn, though. He could probably recite his notes and the details of each crime scene from memory. With no new leads, no new bodies, and his suspect nowhere to be found, Tinsley was just going through the motions at this point. So much for lead detective, huh.

            He dumped his cup of coffee and packed up his things. It was a bit early for him to leave the station, sure, but he wasn’t getting anywhere like this. Hell, Tinsley made his way towards the front doors of the department, his coworkers had surely noticed all the nights he was the last to leave. He deserved an early evening at home with the stress of this case.

            Once in the parking lot, Tinsley grabbed his keys from his pocket to unlock his car.

 _“Banjo!”_  Tinsley froze. In front of him was Ricky Goldsworth, an excited grin splitting his face as he lounged casually on the hood of Tinsley’s hatchback. “Or should I say,” His nose scrunched up as he chuckled, “ _Detective_  Banjo”.


	3. Chapter 3

            “So why are you stealing art if you’re a cop?”

Tinsley’s arms were stiff on the steering wheel. He kept his eyes on the road, so he didn’t have to admit to himself that he had allowed Ricky Goldsworth into his car. Sure, he had gently flashed a gun when Tinsley seemed hesitant, but still.

“Why does anyone?” That elicited a scoff from the man sitting next to him.

“Oh please,” Ricky exclaimed, “You have a cushy ass lead detective job. The men who work for Fear aren’t exactly distinguished in their careers”. Tinsley felt himself getting angry, defensive, he wanted to argue that he had as much of a right to crime as anyone else. He took the moment’s rest of a red light to look at Ricky.

            “Have you not considered the fact that I might just be a bad person?” That made Ricky smile and Tinsley didn’t like that at all. His question hung in the air for a moment, which felt odd since Ricky hadn’t stopped fucking talking since they’d gotten in the car. Tinsley broke the silence first, “Where are we going?” He had driven aimlessly since they had left the station, unsure if Ricky had thought that far ahead when he had ordered him to drive.

          “Take me to your apartment,” he said simply. Tinsley almost choked on his spit in surprise.

“Absolutely not”. Anger came across Ricky’s face as he stared at Tinsley who refused to meet his eyes. He pulled his gun from his hip once again.

“It wasn’t a fucking question, Tinsley”. Tinsley laughed out loud at that. He wasn’t certain why. Tinsley never fancied himself a man with enough balls to laugh in the face of a violent, armed man.

            “You do realize I also have a gun?” Tinsley posed, shaking his head incredulously. “So you can put your shiny toy away because you’re not impressing anyone”. Tinsley recoiled and shouted as Goldsworth suddenly struck him in the side of the head with the gun. The car swerved drastically and nearly collided with a street sign. He righted the car and brought one hand to his face, feeling a drop of blood trickle from his sore cheek.

“Just take me to your apartment, I want to chat with you about that serial killer”. Tinsley felt his anger take a backseat. This man may very well have information that could help his case. Neither of them said another word

**⸫**

            “Did you want a drink?” Tinsley stared at Goldsworth from his kitchen counter, watching the man pace his living room and down his hallway, seeming to be inspecting his possessions. He didn’t get a response right away as Ricky wandered his bathroom quickly and shot a glance into Tinsley’s bedroom. He was uncomfortable with the erratic man having free reign of his apartment. Tinsley wondered if he was looking for something to steal, but after their altercation in the car he didn’t dare get snide and accuse the man of such a thing.

            Once Goldsworth had returned to the living room and sat down, Tinsley posed his question again.

“Don’t mind if I do”. Tinsley poured two drinks and sat in his armchair, handing one to Goldsworth. The man sat far too leisurely on his couch, his arms spread comfortably across the back as he looked down his nose at Tinsley. Tinsley sipped at his drink as they stared at each other in silence for a long moment.

            “You live like a fucking pig, by the way,” Goldsworth licked his lips clean of the alcohol he had been given as a small smile crossed his face. Tinsley’s brow furrowed at that. “You already went and made a mess of all my hard work”. Tinsley coughed suddenly and covered his mouth, trying to stop himself from drowning on the sip he had taken. He was about to snap back at the shorter man when Goldsworth cut him off.

            “So lets talk about these murders, huh?” A grin split Goldsworth’s face again. It was giddy and sickly and made his too dark eyes shine in an uncomfortable manner.

“W-Well what do you want to know?” Tinsley asked, tilting his head.

“I’d like to see your case files first of all”. Tinsley shook his head and chuckled. This conversation felt so surreal, he almost couldn’t believe Ricky Goldsworth was sitting on his couch. He had ached to find him in the few weeks since their last encounter to hopefully further his case, but this was nowhere near what he had pictured in his mind for his chance to question the man.

            “I don’t keep those at my house. Keeping such a thing so unprotected would be foolish police work”. Goldsworth looked visibly disappointed, the glint dropping from his eye for a moment.

“You’re not exactly a good cop though, now are you?” Tinsley’s fist tightened on his drink. The smile was back on the man’s face as soon as he detected Tinsley’s flare of anger. “Hmm, then tell me,” Ricky’s fingers danced around the rim of his glass in thought as he changed the topic abruptly, “Who are you, C. C.? You’re a 35 year old man. You have a very distinguished position with the LAPD and yet you live in this shithole,” He gestured vaguely at the room they sat in. “No kids. Are you married?”

            “No”. The sudden segue in conversation put him on edge.

“Ever been?” Tinsley shrugged and sipped his drink, staring at Goldsworth over the rim of his glass. The booze began to settle into his stomach. The warm sensation that emanated from it was nearly orgasmic. He’d been waiting for the feeling all day. Even if this wasn’t the situation in which he had hoped to unwind for the night, Tinsley figured he’d take what he can get. He set his drink down.

            “Why are you so interested?” Tinsley tensed as the other man’s body language entirely changed at the question. From authoritative and calm, the man leaned forward with his palms facing upward on his knees. The whites of his wide eyes were visible as he stared unblinking at Tinsley, his mouth hung open ever so slightly.

“I—” The gaze that met Tinsley’s was somehow ice-cold and warm at that same time. Goldsworth’s voice had dropped to a whisper like he was confiding something sensitive and private. “I find you utterly fascinating”. Tinsley shifted uncomfortably in his seat and grimaced slightly at the intensity of the man’s behavior.

            “Um, okay”. Goldsworth’s stare didn’t waver. Tinsley struggled to look anywhere other than the man’s dark, glossy eyes. He felt himself grow queasy, anxiety rising in his throat at the uncomfortable silence that punctuated the man’s words. The image of the necklace hanging from the man’s rearview flashed across his mind again, an unwelcome reminder that he very well may have invited a killer into his apartment for drinks. He felt like he was being eyed up by something large and predatory even though Goldsworth was dwarfed in comparison to himself.

            “S-So—” Tinsley’s voice wavered slightly as he struggled to change the topic. “I wanted to ask you about the necklace in your car”. Goldsworth shut his eyes for a long moment and leaned back onto the couch. Tinsley noticed his glass was empty. When he opened his eyes again, the expression that had disturbed Tinsley so much was entirely gone, and a normal demeanor had returned to the man. He smiled and laughed in a disjointed way.

“You like it? I’m quite fond of it,” Ricky’s smile widened even more, and Tinsley got the feeling that the other man understood the intentions of the question immediately. “It’s just a little something I came across in my travels and decided I’d quite like to have it for myself”. The man’s response made Tinsley’s body tense even more. All the alarm bells in his head were going off.

          Goldsworth slapped his hands against his knees suddenly before rising from the couch. “Well, this has really been quite nice. I appreciate your hospitality, Cecil, but I think I should be going”. Before Tinsley could even get a word out in response the man had closed his apartment door behind him and had left him alone. It seemed he had gotten the information he was looking for even without having seen any of the case files.

          Tinsley cursed himself as he carried the two empty glasses back to his kitchen. Why had he asked him about the necklace? It seemed the man had just wanted to discern if he was a suspect in the case and Tinsley had played right into his hands. Before Tinsley tossed the glasses into the sink, a thought crossed his mind. He fumbled in one of this kitchen drawers, fishing for a few items strewn about the mess within. He deftly grabbed a brush and dusted a fine powder along the clear glass. A satisfied smile crossed his face as he pressed a strip of tape against the glass. When he pulled it back, five fingerprints had appeared on the adhesive. He lightly pressed the tape against a post-it note and tucked it in the drawer. Maybe this visit hadn’t been useless after all.

**⸫**

          Each time he left home, he left work, he saw that car in the distance. Down the block, in a parking lot across the street, somewhere always watching. Even before he saw it he felt his eyes on him. It’s like he had developed a sense for Goldsworth’s presence. The other man didn’t even try to hide it. He was quite brazen with how he had begun to follow Tinsley. No bodies appeared that week or the week after. Goldsworth didn’t make another attempt to contact him. Whenever Tinsley imagined Ricky watching him with that glossy, predatory stare a shiver made its way through his body.

          He didn’t know if the man’s goal was to intimidate him. If it was, it was working. Tinsley found himself double checking his locks at night, even though he knew the man had made it into his locked apartment before. When he left work at night, he glanced over his shoulder more than once. He scanned the back of his car each time he got in the driver’s seat. The fact that he was following him so intently only made the hunch that he was the killer grow stronger in Tinsley’s mind. But, you’d think if the man had any sense of self-preservation, he’d be more discreet in his harassment of the detective trying to put him behind bars.

          Tinsley almost began to be glad Goldsworth was following him. The lack of bodies made him entertain the thought that maybe this surveillance was distracting him from other activities. If preventing unnecessary deaths meant he had to deal with being watched on a 24/7 basis, Tinsley was ready to make that sacrifice. That is, until Horsely came into his office one Tuesday morning with a look on her face that made his stomach drop. Her pale brown eyes looked sad under a layer of stoic professionalism. Without a word shared between the two of them, Tinsley grabbed his coat and followed her out of the department.

          By the time Tinsley was heading for his car that evening the sun had long gone down. The images of blood and another woman’s limp expressionless face had just begun to fade from his mind when he heard a sound behind him in the dark of the parking lot. Tinsley jumped and whipped around, his right hand cautiously grasping at the holster on his hip. He wasn’t exactly surprised when he saw Goldsworth standing about five feet away from him, only slightly illuminated by the street light behind him. The lack of surprise didn’t do anything to prevent fear from seizing his chest.

          “What do you want?” Tinsley asked cautiously, his eyes darting around the parking lot of the police station in hopes that no one else was still hanging around to see them. The only people Tinsley had seen still present when he left the station was dispatch working the front desk, but he didn’t want to take any chances. The lack of a response from Goldsworth only made his heart pound even louder in his ears. The man was just staring at him with an expression Tinsley didn’t know how to interpret.

          “It’s so beautiful,” Goldsworth breathed. Tinsley could barely make out the black of the man’s eyes in the dark, but he had a pretty good idea of what they looked like.

“What is?” As soon as the question had left his lips, Tinsley regretted it. Ricky took three quick steps towards him. C. C. began to back up but his back hit the side of his car, cornering him as Goldsworth began to encroach on his personal space.  Despite his superior size between the two of them, the way Ricky held his broad shoulders back and his spine straight exuded power that Tinsley’s gangly slouched stature simply couldn’t compete with.

            “What you did”. Ricky was close enough now that C. C. could properly discern the look in his eyes. It was the same one he had had that night in his apartment. “What you did to her”. Goldsworth’s voice was quiet as he spoke. His hands suddenly grasped at each of Tinsley’s biceps, pushing him against the car door. Tinsley’s thoughts raced as he struggled to make peace with his creator, begging for mercy in his impending end.

            “That windy night on that hotel balcony, a little push, the way you wrote that note to ensure your innocence. Your poor, beautiful wife”. The amount of shine to Ricky’s eyes at this point was disturbing, their gloss making it look like he was on the verge of tears. But the grin on his face, all sharp toothed and giddy, showed otherwise. The realization of what Goldsworth was talking about hit Tinsley like a knee to the groin. His face burned as he knocked away the shorter man’s hands that had begun to caress his shoulders.

            Tinsley drew back his arm before connecting his fist with the shorter man’s face. He struck him so quickly that it caught him off guard, knocking him backwards a few steps. Ricky’s hands immediately went to his nose from which blood began to spill. The one hit had been enough to knock Goldsworth back and give C. C. the opportunity to open his car door and flee the scene, but he didn’t. Without thinking, he socked him again in the stomach.

            Ricky doubled over and hissed from the pain. With an unceremonious shove, he found himself with his ass on the pavement looking up at the detective looming over him. His hands were now covered in red from the steady stream flowing from his nose. Tinsley’s outstretched hands were shaking. He thought he was about to pass out. He couldn’t tell if it was from the anger or fear.

            “Who fucking told you that?” Tinsley asked sharply, failing to keep his voice from cracking. Ricky sat on the ground, gazing up at the man towering over him. Despite the fact he had just taken a couple hits, the grin hadn’t left his face. Blood had run into his mouth, staining a few of his top teeth. He looked almost pleased, like he had tried to provoke Tinsley to lash out at him. That disturbed Tinsley more than he realized.

“Who do you think?” Ricky said simply.

            The anger Tinsley felt coursing through him was almost unbearable. He wanted to grab his gun and send a bullet through Goldsworth’s head right there, but he knew he couldn’t. They were in the parking lot of the police department, he wanted to solve his case, and he knew it was wrong.

“Just stay the fuck out of my life Ricky”.  Tinsley jumped into his car and peeled out of the parking lot. His hands didn’t stop shaking until he was home, leaned over his kitchen sink taking desperate swigs from a bottle of whiskey, liquor dripping from the sides of his mouth and tears streaming silently from his closed eyes.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry! this one's a bit longer than previous chapters. more will follow soon enough. thanks for readin'!

           The forensic report sat open on Tinsley’s computer for far too long. After an hour, it would have made sense to move back to analyzing other details of his case, but he still found himself staring at each notch and curve of the enlarged fingerprint on his screen. Horsely had brought the report to his attention, all giddy and hopeful. Fingerprints had been found at the last scene that didn’t belong to the victim and had yet to be traced to a known source. The potential break in the case had had everyone in the station buzzing that morning. Tinsley was yet to share their sentiment.

           He hadn’t given Goldsworth’s prints to the forensic team. No one else knew that Tinsley had a suspect, and he wasn’t sure how to share that information without incriminating himself. And, although he didn’t want to admit it to himself, Goldsworth was a flimsy suspect at best. For all he knew, he was just a petty criminal who happened to get the necklace from the real killer. Yet, their conversation in Tinsley’s apartment made his curiosity remain.

            Despite the lack of forensic analysis, it was clear the prints were not Ricky’s. They weren’t even close. Tinsley had been keeping the prints with him in his bag in case he were to get a break like this. And yet this supposed break in his case just felt like a rock in his stomach. The prints they had found weren’t identified, no matches had come up. He was disappointed they weren’t Ricky’s. Maybe if the prints had been a match, he would be able to bring up Goldsworth as a legitimate suspect.

            Tinsley had fretted, paced, and drank over the potential of Ricky sharing what he knew with the police. Even with his knowledge, he doubted Ricky had the evidence that could destroy his career. He knew that pixelated hotel security footage rested in Fear’s hands. Fear was the one he had to protect from ever facing prison time. He wouldn’t just hand that kind of thing over to Goldsworth. Or, at least that’s what Tinsley had been telling himself.

            The dread that another person knew what had happened to her, knew what he had done, weighed heavy on Tinsley’s mind. Even as he sat at her grave, having departed the station, he felt no relief from the flowers that rested in front of her tombstone. He thought the guilt would have faded some in his mind in the time that had passed since it had happened. And yet, it felt all too recent. Grass had only begun to overtake the mound of dirt that blanketed his wife. In the past, he had found relief from visiting her. But now, no matter the number of apologies that spilled from his lips and tears that he forced away, he only felt worse by the time he left. Once back in his car, he thought for a moment that maybe he shouldn’t have come to visit. The thought made his chest ache.

**⸫**

           “I didn’t mean to offend you”.

Tinsley didn’t turn around at the voice. He remained still on his barstool, eyeing the busy bartender scrubbing the counter in front of him. He felt like a fucking fool for having thought he could have a quiet night out.

“I shouldn’t have been so brash”.

Tinsley grimaced and ordered another drink. The slight sway to his vision that had begun to set in almost let him believe he was hearing voices. His sanity already toed the ledge, the idea of having finally lost it didn’t even phase him.

“Look, I know what you’re going through”.

           That made Tinsley’s temper flare, his self control dissolving rapidly. He whipped around on his barstool to see Goldsworth standing behind him. He felt a bit of comfort that the noise level of the bar allotted them some privacy in their conversation.

“How the  _ fuck  _ could you possibly know what I’m going through?”

Somehow that came across as an invitation to Ricky and he slid into the barstool next to him. His overenthusiastic grin wasn’t present on his face, thank god, but Ricky frowned so heavily that it made Tinsley doubt if it was genuine. The man didn’t answer him, instead ordering a drink and sitting in silence until it arrived.

            Ricky slowly sipped his drink and set it down before meeting Tinsley’s eyes. His frown looked a bit more genuine under the shadow of the red ball cap Tinsley recognized from the night they had met.

“Every death is a tragedy,” Ricky’s voice was tender and barely audible above the quiet roar of the other bar patrons around them. Tinsley held back a scoff, surprised at the man’s sentiment. The man’s voice hardened a bit, the barlight catching his eyes, “Even if it needs to happen”.

           Somewhere behind the haze of the alcohol, alarm bells started to sounds in his head, reminding him he didn’t have his gun. This sense of danger, however, did not reach the surface of his mind due to his intoxication

“There are plenty of people out there who deserve to die,” Tinsley snapped back, his inhibitions clearly lessened as he eyed the man next to him. Ricky’s lips twitched, suppressing a smile. He ignored the direction of the comment.

           “Look, Cecil,” Ricky began, leaning towards Tinsley. A twinge of annoyance struck Tinsley at the man’s assumption that they were on a first name basis. The uncomfortable intensity of the man’s gaze Tinsley had witnessed in his apartment was back. It was almost a look of fondness. Ricky placed his hand on Tinsley’s arm and it took everything in him not to recoil from the touch and hit the man again.

“I want to help you”. Tinsley noticed how small the man’s hand was in comparison to his arm. It annoyed him how intimidating he could be despite his stature.

“I think we could really help each other”. 

           “How could you possibly help me?” Tinsley raised one eyebrow incredulously as he spoke. Ricky didn’t respond, but slid him an envelope across the bar. Inside was Gertrude Meinen’s necklace. A confused expression crossed Tinsley’s face as he glanced up at Ricky.

“I want you to have it. In hopes that it helps your case, and as an apology”.

Tinsley didn’t know what to think. He wasn’t sure how this was supposed to help his case, or constitute an apology. He furrowed his brow, confusion still present on his face. Ricky almost looked offended. His expression dropped a bit, like he had been hoping Tinsley would be pleased with his offering.

           “Look, I-I have to go,” Goldsworth said abruptly, finishing his drink in a single gulp. He didn’t meet Tinsley’s eyes as he rose from his barstool.

“I’ll be in touch”. Tinsley nodded absently and didn’t turn to watch the man’s hurried exit. He remained silently at the bar for awhile after he had left, not touching his drink. Once he was sure he wouldn’t run into Ricky in the parking lot, he paid his tab and headed home.

           He was almost to his apartment when a thought struck him. He doubled back and glanced in his rearview, hoping no police officers witnessed the pathetic swerving of his hatchback down the empty streets. It only took him a few minutes to make it to the station. The lot was thankfully empty save for a few unoccupied squad cars. He pulled the envelope from his coat pocket and stared at it for a long moment. It was impossible to be certain if Goldsworth had left behind any fingerprints on the necklace, but Tinsley prayed that he had. He shut the envelope and dropped it into the mailbox of the station.

            A small smile crossed Tinsley’s face as he left the station. He knew he’d have to arrive early in the morning to get the mail, to explain his prints on the envelope, but that was a small sacrifice to make to hopefully bring Goldsworth into the picture as a legitimate suspect. Maybe Goldsworth was right, maybe could actually help him with his case. Tinsley slept soundly that night.

**⸫**

           Tinsley woke early the next morning. He was excited to rise from bed, excited to head to the station, excited to finally have Goldsworth’s fingerprints as official evidence. Tinsley found himself sitting straighter in the seat of his car, his tie done much neater than was typical. The weight on his shoulders was lighter this morning. He found that he even had enough time to stop and buy a cup of coffee, much nicer than he would have brewed in the stained coffee pot that sat on his desk.

           He made his way quickly out of his car, practically skipping to the mailbox of the police station, coffee in hand. He stuffed his hand into the mailbox when he stopped suddenly. It was empty, his fingers brushing nothing other than the box’s cold metal bottom. His mind started to race. Had someone made it here before him? A quick glance around the parking lot made it clear he was the only one here. Tinsley swallowed heavily. Did Goldsworth take it from the mailbox? Tinsley had felt so certain he hadn’t been followed the night prior.

           A pale shape suddenly caught his eye, leaned up against the door of the station. Tinsley’s hands clenched, crushing his coffee accidentally, and spilling the scalding hot liquid across his hand. He cursed and shook his hand, fishing in his pocket for his cell phone with his unburned hand. Grateful for speed dial, he practically smashed his phone against his ear.

            “H-Hello?” He’d clearly caught Horsely still asleep, her voice quiet and confused at the early call.

“Horsely, I need you at the station”. Tinsley felt a bit of relief that his voice didn’t waver.

“Tinsley, what’s going on?”

Tinsley’s eyes trailed downward, finally getting a full look at the limp, nude woman propped against the door of the station.

“We’ve got a body”. Horsely hung up without another word.

           Tinsley approached the body closer, his sense of shock overpowering his disgust at the ghastly wreckage that was the woman’s torso. There wasn’t much blood around her, only dried on her body around her wounds. It was obvious she had been dropped there. And yet, Tinsley wasn’t relieved that she hadn’t been killed right there. Instead, he felt his anger flare and his face begin to burn. The sheer  _ audacity  _ to drop a body right on his doorstep infuriated him. It felt like he was being made fun of, that this was the punishment for his inability to make any significant headway on his case.

           “No.” A quiet whisper left Tinsley’s lips as he could finally see the woman’s neck. Around it was Gertrude Meinen’s ruby necklace.  His jaw clenched so hard he feared he’d snap a tooth. It had been Goldsworth. Retroactive fear struck Tinsley suddenly, he doubled over, hands on his knees, to keep himself from falling down. Sure, Ricky had been suspicious, but the fact that he had actually let serial killer into his apartment, rode in his car, shared a drink with him, made him feel like he was going to vomit. 

            Tinsley felt himself begin to hyperventilate, rapidly growing lightheaded. He really knew he couldn’t be panicking here like this with Horsely on the way, but he didn’t know how to stop. The way Goldsworth stared at him hung in his mind, in his apartment, and again in the parking lot of the station. It was fucking predatory, the way his watery eyes had made Tinsley’s skin crawl. He felt like an idiot for not being immediately certain Goldsworth was the killer. In a way, he had almost been hoping he wasn’t the killer. It would be much easier if Goldsworth was just some random psycho who knew far too much about Tinsley’s life. Tinsley felt his ability to solve this case dissipating like sand through his fingers. He felt his eyes well up. He didn’t know how he could possibly bring the man to justice when he had knowledge of Tinsley’s crimes.

           “Um, Cecil, are you alright?” Tinsley blinked his growing tears away, struggling to compose himself at the sound of Holly’s voice behind him.

“Y-yeah,” His breath came in heavy pants as he spoke, turning to face his partner, “I’m okay”. Holly’s expression was soft, sympathetic as she nodded gently. For once, he wasn’t annoyed at sympathy directed at him. Holly knew him well and understood his problems to a degree. Tinsley was grateful for her patience as he righted himself, his breath gradually slowing to only a few degrees away from calm. The worry that his panic would be suspicious began to fade from Tinsley’s mind. Of course he would be rattled, there was a fucking dead body on the stoop of the police department.

           “So,” Horsely cleared her voice, “Did you just come upon this on your way into the station?” Tinsley nodded silently, his eyes drawn back to the contrast of the glittering ruby against the dried blood across her chest.

“It’s definitely our guy, that’s Gertrude Meinen’s necklace”. They both knew that she was stating the obvious. Tinsley watched Horsely walk a few paces away, dialing their lead forensics officer on her cellphone. A small part of Tinsley hoped that Goldsworth’s prints were still on the necklace, praying that he could still have some kind of a victory in this situation. But, he knew better than to really believe that.

**⸫**

            It had taken hours for the forensics team to finish examining the body so it could be moved and the officers could enter the building. After having every employee of the Los Angeles Police Department out in the parking lot, staring at the latest affront to their abilities, nobody got much work done for the rest of the day. The number of eyes on Tinsley as he had moved about the station made his skin crawl. To think he had thought he was under a lot of pressure before this. He could feel the doubt growing among his colleagues. The lack of leads, lack of suspects, made him look incompetent. Tinsley had even caught the captain staring at him for a moment too long through the windows of his office.

             Tinsley could only take a few hours of the shame of being in the office. When he felt he wouldn’t be noticed, he slipped out quietly. His face still burned with embarrassment on his drive home. He caught his own gaze in his rearview mirror. So much for lead homicide detective, huh? A sudden movement in his lane a few cars back caught his attention. The familiar shape of Ricky’s black car turned onto the street. A flash of rage struck Tinsley that he failed to stifle.

           He quickly pulled off of the road, receiving a few angry honks from the drivers he had just cut off. Tinsley threw his car in park and leaped out of the driver’s seat. He pointed directly at Ricky, despite not being able to see him through the tint of the man’s windshield, then pointed  at the ground in front of him. He was almost surprised at the compliance he received, the black sports car slowly pulling to a stop behind his own.

            As he approached the driver’s side of the car, Ricky only rolled the window down a crack, his eyes the only thing visible to Tinsley.

“What do you want?” His tone was casual, blasé, and that made Tinsley’s fury rise exponentially.

“How fucking  _ dare _ you?” Ricky raised a single eyebrow, meeting the other man’s gaze nonchalantly. He wasn’t certain if Tinsley actually wanted an answer to that question.  “You left a fucking body at the police station”. Tinsley wasn’t sure if he had ever been this angry, his knuckles whitening as he grabbed at the man’s window as if he could force it down further.

             At such a public statement of that, Tinsley watched Goldsworth’s dark eyes dart around quickly to eye their surroundings. The man sighed, his eyes rolling slightly.

“Look,” he muttered, “I have shit to do, we can talk later”. He met Tinsley’s gaze, his eyes showing a mutual anger. “So, get the fuck off my car”.

Tinsley furrowed his brow angrily, ready to throttle the man right there in the middle of traffic.

“No!”

             The car revved at an intimidating volume and lurched towards Tinsley. 

“I said get the  _ fuck  _ off my car!” The volume of Goldsworth’s yell bordered a scream and startled Tinsley enough to stumble back from the car. Ricky immediately stomped on the gas and sped away, nearly hitting Tinsley on his way back into the traffic and cutting off more than a few cars. Tinsley stood dumbfounded on the side of the road, still fuming as he watched the black car speed down the road and out of view. 

           Once he came back to his senses, he realized a number of drivers were staring at him as they passed by. He was so fucking sick of getting stared at today. Tinsley hopped back into his car, failed to calm his breathing, and begrudgingly headed home. The idea that he had caught Ricky at an “inconvenient time” only made his frustration grow, it was clear he had been following him, yet again. You would think Ricky would stay off his fucking heels now that Tinsley was certain he was his killer, but apparently not.

           After having made it to his apartment, Tinsley dropped into his chair with a sigh, a glass in one hand and a bottle in the other. He eyed his front door with almost as much intensity as he had Goldsworth. The man had said he was willing to talk . Tinsley didn’t know for certain if that meant today, but he was willing to wait for him nonetheless.

**⸫**

           The quiet swing of his apartment door didn’t wake Tinsley from his slumber, the bottle sitting empty on the table next to him and his last drink tipped over in his lap. 

“How fucking dare  _ I?  _ How fucking dare  _ you? _ ” Ricky’s immediate yell as he slammed the apartment door shut behind him did wake the other man with a jump. Tinsley fumbled for a moment, dropping his glass as he jumped to his feet.

“H-how did you know I took the necklace to the station?” Sleep hung in Tinsley’s voice, his prior anger having been dimmed by the sudden nap. He shot a glance to the clock on his wall. It was nearly four in the morning, but apparently they were going to do this now. 

           Goldsworth’s eyes widened in disbelief, “Have you not noticed I’m watching you? I’ve made it pretty fucking clear”.

“But I didn’t see you”. 

The words left Tinsley’s lips far too quickly for him to realize how stupid of a response it was. Ricky threw his arms up in the air in frustration, stunned into silence for a moment as they stared at each other. Liquor clouded Tinsley’s mind a bit, apparently he had drank enough to pass out in his chair, but he was still watching Goldsworth very closely. He was more aware of the danger of the man’s presence now. He had seen first hand what he was capable of. Tinsley didn’t know if Ricky was armed, if he was here to hurt him, and the thought made his heart race.

           “That necklace was a gift!” Tinsley winced at the volume of Ricky’s voice, praying the walls of apartment were thick enough to lend them privacy.

“That necklace was a gift and you’re trying to arrest me!”

Tinsley laughed at that, covering his mouth to stifle his reaction. He saw Ricky’s eyes narrow.

“I’m a fucking cop!” Tinsley failed to halt another chuckle from leaving his lips, “That really shouldn’t surprise you”.

           Tinsley’s confidence to laugh at Goldsworth was immediately zapped from his body as the shorter man approached to him, invading his personal space. Tinsley pretended his wide eyes and quick steps backward didn’t give away how intimidated he was by the shorter man. Ricky’s stare felt like a knife pressed against his throat, and Tinsley felt a dull panic thrumming inside him.

“If you  _ ever _ try to arrest me, I’m taking you down with me”. The man’s voice was quiet, just above a whisper, but hard and threatening at the same time.

“I-It’s your word against mine,” Tinsley cringed internally at how his words faltered, struggling to make up for it with false confidence, “You have no proof that I killed her. Do you really think the police would believe you? I’m a lead detective, you’re just some fucking psycho”. 

           A yell escaped Tinsley as Goldsworth’s fist connected with his nose. Tinsley heard a sickening crunch from the impact and pain flooded his face. Before he could recover, Ricky socked Tinsley again in the stomach and shoved him to the ground as his balance began to waver. Ricky stood above him and chuckled quietly. Tinsley cursed as he grasped at his nose, blood beginning to dribble from his nostrils.

“God!” Ricky exclaimed, “You’re so fucking stupid!”

He threw his arms into the air dramatically again, looking up at the dingy ceiling of Tinsley’s apartment in frustration.

“I can’t believe I have to do this with somebody who’s so stupid! I was really hoping for some better competition than you.”

           Despite the searing pain in his face and the blood dribbling onto his fingers, Tinsley furrowed his brow and looked up at Goldsworth in confusion.

“I’m not talking about your dumb fucking wife,” Ricky rolled his eyes, “I have the security footage from the museum, dumbass. It’s not murder, but you’re still going to fucking prison”. 

Tinsley, one hand still pressed against his nose, pushed up onto his elbow and tried to stand. His efforts were stopped by a swift kick to his ribs. He coughed from the blow and blood from his nose spattered onto the wood floor in front of him.

           “You stupid,” he kicked him again, punctuating each word with another kick to the man’s torso, “Fucking. Bastard. Asshole. Cop”. Tinsley inhaled sharply, rolling onto his stomach and trying to block the man’s attack with his arms. Every blow from Ricky caused a stabbing pain to grip him. He almost wondered what brand the man’s boots were, they sure were sturdy. Once the man stopped kicking him, Tinsley didn’t try to get up. Apparently his first attempt had been a mistake. He panted and gritted his teeth at the pain. Each labored breath blew more of the blood from his face onto the floor. Unsure of what to do, or if the man was about to try and kill him, Tinsley started to crawl weakly away from him.

“Oh my gooood,” Ricky huffed, “You’re such a drama queen!”

           Pain surged through Tinsley’s body as Ricky suddenly grabbed him by the collar, easily hoisting the man’s torso from the floor to face him. Before Tinsley could respond, Goldsworth suddenly crashed his lips against his own. The wet blood on his face made for an even more sickening sensation. It happened too quickly, too forcefully, for Tinsley to be able to react. One moment Ricky was mocking him, and next their teeth narrowly avoided clacking against each other. The man’s lips were uncomfortably warm and Tinsley felt nausea bubbling amongst the pain he was in.

           And yet, as quickly as it happened, it ended and Ricky had dropped him onto the ground again. The thud made Tinsley yelp quietly, pain shooting through his ribcage. 

“God! I fucking hate you!” Ricky exclaimed again. Despite the pain he was in, Tinsley’s found the man’s demeanor deeply disturbing and grimaced at the smear of blood he saw left on the other man’s lips.

“I’ll-I’ll be in touch, I guess”. And with that, Ricky stormed from his apartment and slammed the door shut behind him. The vibration the door made along the floor felt like a dull blow to his sore body.

            Tinsley groaned and rolled onto his back. He wasn’t yet recovered from the attack enough to get up. He cursed, covering his face with his blood smeared hands. The encounter had been so overwhelming that Tinsley didn’t even try to start to process what had just happened. He dragged his hands from his face, staring up at his ceiling. The pain in his nose had lessened a touch, but he was still sure it was broken. He sighed and sat in silence for a long moment. He snorted suddenly, a laugh erupting from his chest. The action made his ribs ache, but he couldn’t stifle it. Tinsley laughed painfully alone on his floor, covering his face once again as he shook his head incredulously. He was laughing at himself. The thought that a few months ago he had thought his life was a wreck was hilarious to him. He had thought he’d hit rock bottom a long time ago, but it was now clear that it was possible to sink even lower.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: q slur. it's just once and real quick but it's there  
> this chapter's brought to you by my brand new Mr Coffee Coffee Pot™  
> i also want to thank everybody for the kudos and kind words. i didn't expect people to really read this so i appreciate the feedback.

           “What the fuck happened to you?”

Holly’s exclamation as soon as he arrived at the station made Tinsley sigh. Sure, his nose was in a splint. Sure, he had two black eyes. Was it really necessary to bring up, though. Tinsley took a long sip from his mug of coffee before he answered the question.

“Uh, I got jumped”. Shock flooded his partner’s expression as she covered her mouth with one hand.

“Are you alright? Did you file a report?”

Tinsley shook his head dismissively, wishing he had been able to make it to his office uninterrupted so he wouldn’t be bothered about this.

           “Holly, I barely got a look at the guy, it’d just be a waste of time”. Tinsley watched her brow furrow in frustration and, for a moment, wished he had a partner that cared less about his well being. After a bit more banter back and forth, Tinsley begrudgingly agreed to report it to an officer even though it was only so he could go to his office in peace. As soon as he had dropped into his chair and opened his laptop, he saw his phone light up with a message. A mirthless chuckle escaped his lips as he knocked his phone to the floor without a second thought. He didn’t have time to deal with that bullshit right now.

           His email was full of reports from the forensics team. His latest gift from Goldsworth had really left him with a lot of work to do. Scrolling the names of the files, he still felt slight disappointment at the lack of a fingerprint analysis. Tinsley really had known better than to expect Ricky to make such a significant mistake. He had gotten away with all of his murders this far, he wasn’t stupid enough to not consider what he left behind while doing so.

           The forensics team had been able to discern a fair amount of information about the blade that was used, however. It seemed to be consistent with the injuries of previous victims as well. It was a relatively simple blade, non-serrated, four to six inches long. For some reason it didn’t surprise Tinsley that Goldsworth very well had a specific killing knife he liked to use. The nature in which he had been killing his victims was very routine as well. It was always overkill with a ridiculous number of stab wounds. It wasn’t hard to imagine Ricky flying off the handle and just going to town on someone. Tinsley found that he didn’t have to imagine it at all.

**⸫**

           Tinsley somehow managed to not open the message he had received for nearly a week. He knew it was from Fear and he didn’t want to know what it said. He’d spent most of that time icing his face, continuing to drink on the reg, and feeling sorry for himself. It was pretty much a typical week, minus the injuries. His nose hadn’t been broken badly enough to push it out of alignment. And, aside from that, he really had been quite lucky. The only other remnants of Ricky’s attack were some bruises that ached when he moved too quickly.

           It wasn’t until he was sitting pathetically in his underwear, his mind swimming and bordering on a blackout, that his finger slipped and he opened the message from Fear. He didn’t really process what he was reading at first, the words took a moment to comprehend. It thankfully wasn’t anything shocking, short and sweet.

-i have a job for you

Tinsley’s fingers dumbly pounded against his phone

wha dyou want-

He almost flinched at the immediate reply, especially at such an ungodly hour.

-god, youre an embarrassment

A picture of a stern looking, bald man appeared on his phone. It was clearly a mugshot.

-this is joseph romero. i need you to kill him.

           Tinsley choked on the drink he was sipping at, some of the liquid spraying onto his phone screen and distorting the text. He read the message four, no, five times, and it still didn’t totally sink in.

yuore kidding-

-im not. in fact im doing you a favor. this is more for your sake than mine

-hes not happy youve been selling drugs on his gangs turf

youre the one sellign them. im just delivering them-

-semantics

-either way. he knows who you are

i cannt kill somebody-

-we both know thats not true

           Tinsley pitched his phone across his living room in frustration. This had to be a fucking joke. Sure, Fear had made him do some questionable shit in the past, but this was an entirely different ballpark. He couldn’t feel his face but he knew he was hyperventilating, panicking again. Without enough warning to make it to his toilet, he vomited onto the floor. The combination of stomach acid and liquor made it feel like he he had swallowed napalm. He pressed a fist to his face, stumbling to his sink for some water to try and alleviate the pain.

**⸫**

           The unbearable throbbing of his head was what woke him from his slumber. Tinsley stretched and groaned at his stiff body, his cheek pressed to the cold wood floor of his apartment. He didn’t recall going to sleep and, given where he lay, it hadn’t been intentional. His blurry vision came into focus on a glass of water that sat on the floor, just out of arm’s reach. He slid himself across the floor to grab it and sat up, gulping it down desperately. The pain in his head felt like it flooded his entire body, his fingers numb against the glass he held. He needed coffee and tylenol, immediately, but had yet to regain the strength to fetch such a thing. His phone, and the evidence of his conversation the night prior, was thankfully not within his sight. Tinsley let out a thankful groan at the fact that it was a Saturday as he pulled himself to his feet.

           Once having fetched what he needed, as well as another glass of water, he collapsed into his chair. He fumbled through his end table drawer for a cigarette, seeking anything that could potentially alleviate his headache faster than the medicine. He knew he had overdone it, and that was saying a lot. His hands shook as he struck a match and lit his cigarette. Tinsley hadn’t felt this terrible after a night of drinking in a long time. He knew he had developed quite the tolerance. He didn’t like to acknowledge the fact he hadn’t had a fully sober day since Sara had been put in the ground. It was far easier to be drunk than to take responsibility for his actions.

           A chime from his phone sounded from across the room. The sound immediately brought his conversation with Fear back to the forefront of his mind. He immediately grabbed for another cigarette. Tinsley knew his apartment was going to stink to high heaven, but he needed to think. He hadn’t imagined that his stupid decision to be a drug runner in hopes of finding Goldsworth could bite him in the ass this hard. In the back of his mind, he wondered if the bundle of misfortune his life had become was karma. Tinsley didn’t believe in heaven, but he knew he wasn’t going there.

           He sat like that the whole morning and into the afternoon, smoke bombing his apartment and staring blankly at the wall. The cigarettes lessened his headache and increased his nausea. He was idly thankful that apparently he had cleaned up after himself while blacked out, as he was sure the sight of vomit would make his stomach empty again. Tinsley was struggling to think, to decide what to do about his latest dilemma.

           After a while, he did venture from his apartment. Tinsley stared at his feet, refusing to make eye contact with the cashier who rang up the cluster of bottles he had grabbed. He shoved some of the cash he had received from Fear into the employee’s hands, and left with his head down. Once he had arrived back in the parking lot of his apartment complex, he sat in silence for a moment, his breathing loud against the silence around him. He fiddled with a small bag that sat in his passenger seat for a moment, pulling a small flip phone from within. Tinsley turned it over in his hands, turning it on. If he was going to be dealing in all of this shady shit from now on, he might as well have the burner phone to do it with a bit more safety.

           Tinsley caught his own gaze in the rearview mirror. His eyes were judging, already not proud of what he was about to do. Behind him, he could see that familiar black car sitting in a parking lot across the street. He gathered his bags and exited the car. As soon as he was outside, his eyes rapidly scanned every car in the lot around him as he headed in Goldsworth’s direction. Tinsley had believed Fear when he said Romero knew where he was. He was aware he was in danger, and didn’t know if he would meet that danger all too soon. 

           Quiet music played from Ricky’s open car window as Tinsley approached. The vague fear that Ricky would hurt him upon his approach floated around in the back of his mind.

“You know, you should really get a hobby”.

“I have hobbies,” Ricky quipped back, sounding defensive. Tinsley smiled.

“Following me isn’t a hobby”. The fact that Ricky smiled back surprised him.

“Well,” the shorter man laughed quietly, “I guess we’ll just have to agree to disagree”.

           Tinsley leaned on his car, looking down at Ricky. His stomach churned, his self-loathing steadily rising at what he was doing, but he tried to play it cool.

“Hey,” his voice was softer, a small smile just as fake painted onto his face, “I just wanted to apologize for what I did. You should come inside, let me make it up to you”. A small expression of shock crossed Ricky’s face for a moment before he pushed it away, looking up at Tinsley suspiciously. He wasn’t sure if it was just the lighting or if a touch of pink had appeared on the man’s cheeks. Tinsley hoped for the latter.

“Um, okay”. Ricky’s hesitance was clear in his voice, but he turned the car off and got out nonetheless.

           As soon as they had entered his apartment, Ricky coughed.

“Oh my god, it smells like shit in here. Is that why you brought me inside? To assault my senses with the various shitty aspects of your apartment again?”

Tinsley laughed as he set his bags on his kitchen counter, worrying for a moment that it was genuine. Ricky collapsed onto his couch nonetheless.

“Can I get you a drink?”

Ricky glanced at him over the back of the couch, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.

“Yeah, but I’ll pour it”.

           Tinsley rounded the couch to sit next to Goldsworth, handing him the bottle and an empty glass.

“Seriously? You think I’m gonna drug you?” Ricky didn’t respond, pouring himself a drink. After the bottle was handed back to him, Tinsley followed suit.

“So-” Ricky cut him off, smacking his lips after his first sip of the drink. “You got cable?” Tinsley gestured wordlessly at the remote on his coffee table.

           Ricky flipped the TV on, the sudden sound of basketball shoes squeaking and fans yelling filled the apartment as he jumped to turn the volume down. Tinsley wrinkled his nose, turning to the man who sat next to him.

“God, basketball? Really?” The grin Ricky shot him almost made him look like a normal person.

“I said I had hobbies, didn’t I?” Tinsley’s response manifested as a quiet, unintentional laugh. He wasn’t totally certain what to do as Ricky stared at the TV in silence, so he sipped at his drink awkwardly.

“Is the team, uh, getting goals?”

Ricky turned to him, raising an eyebrow.

“You a queer or something?”

Tinsley tilted his head at the man and squinted his eyes. He nearly had to bite his tongue to hold back the snide comment he wanted to make. Ricky’s expression dared him to say something, but he didn’t.

           The silence was uncomfortable and Tinsley was vaguely annoyed by the fact that he was being forced to watch sports. He didn’t actively hate them, but he found them terribly boring. Clearly Ricky didn’t, as he jumped and reacted to practically every movement of the players. Tinsley poured himself another drink and handed the bottle to Ricky wordlessly once he noticed his glass was empty as well.

“Can I ask you a question?”

           “Depends on the question,” Ricky replied simply.

“What made you start following me?” Goldsworth was silent for a moment, seeming to mull the question over in his mind.

“You want an honest answer?” Tinsley nodded at him silently, lips pressed against the rim of his glass.

“You seemed different; different than the other people I’ve met that work for Fear, at least”. Ricky paused, taking a sip from his drink as well. He almost looked a little uncomfortable at the intensity of the way Tinsley had asked the question. “And, well, once I realized you were a cop you were too much of a liability to just let you go about your life”.

           “What, ‘lead homicide detective’ intimidated you?” Tinsley asked him. A teasing smile crossed his face. 

“No,” Ricky laughed quietly, “Even less now that I know you can’t take a punch”. It made Tinsley uncomfortable that his laugh in response Ricky’s jab was genuine.

“Yeah, well,” The buzz that had begun to come over Tinsley made him more comfortable with the situation he was in. He lounged a bit more comfortably next to killer he had been searching for. “In my defense, detective is more of a desk job than anything else”.

           “You could use a few more punches, gotta toughen your skinny ass up”. The fact that Ricky’s words had begun to slur slightly as he spoke gave Tinsley a sense of satisfaction. The man was significantly smaller than him and probably lacked his tolerance, it wasn’t surprising that he would get drunk easier than him. Tinsley would be lying to himself if he were to say that hadn’t been his goal with inviting the man into his home. 

           More drinks were poured and finished. After awhile Tinsley almost felt like he had forgotten the actual nature of their relationship, like he had forgotten the fact that the last time he had seen the man he had left him bleeding on his apartment floor. Even if Tinsley didn’t succeed at getting what he wanted, being able to dissolve some of the animosity between them was still a win. He couldn’t afford to have Goldsworth running in and out of his life erratically, to not have any idea what the man would do next.

           Tinsley side-eyed Ricky as the short man swayed in his seat, staring silently at the glass in his hands as he tipped it back and forth. Now seemed like a pretty good time. He grabbed Ricky’s shoulders, righting him on the couch when he swayed a bit too far forward. Tinsley felt him tense under his hands. His lip twitched as he suppressed a smile. 

           “Why do you only kill women?” Tinsley knew the question was sudden and, from the look on Ricky’s face, he had caught him off guard.

“Doesn’t strike me as a sex thing,” Tinsley added, forcing a slur to his words.

“You don’t know that”. Ricky was defensive, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

“Then why not kill men too?” Tinsley was glad that he was at least partially drunk, it gave him something to blame the growing discomfort in his stomach on. He wasn’t proud of what he was doing, but he was desperate. He leaned closer to Ricky, speaking quietly into the man’s ear.

“I mean, you did kiss me”.

           Ricky’s jaw clenched but he didn’t move away. He refused look at Tinsley, staring down at his hands with eyes slightly glazed from the alcohol. No response came from him, making it clear he didn’t want to address the fact that that had happened. Tinsley brought his hand to Goldsworth’s thigh.

“Would you be willing to kill a man?”

           That caught Ricky’s attention. He eyed Tinsley up and down in suspicious, a confused look on his face. His eyes betrayed him, though. Tinsley could spy some of that intense, glossy expression appearing in his eyes in response to the question. Ricky looked like he wanted to hurt him but, given he hadn’t yet punched him for what he was doing, Tinsley felt it was a desire for something more drastic.

“Not me, though,” Tinsley whispered with a small laugh, allowing his lips to graze the man’s neck. It was barely a kiss, more so just a moment of touching Ricky’s skin to see how he’d react.

           “Oh”. It wasn’t clear what the quiet word that left Ricky’s lips was a response to. Tinsley realized he’d been silent for quite awhile. He looked flustered.

“Why do you ask?” Ricky asked tentatively, his voice tense. Tinsley knew he was going to hate himself tomorrow, but he really didn’t want to end up dead in a ditch at the hands of some drug dealer. He heard a sigh from Ricky when he actually kissed him, moving his lips gently along the length of the man’s neck.

“There’s a man who wants to kill me,” Tinsley stated simply, punctuated with a soft kiss to Ricky’s collarbone. 

“A-and why is that?” Tinsley pretended that he didn’t see a smile twitching at the corner of Goldsworth’s mouth as he spoke.

           When Tinsley leaned away he was immediately met by Ricky grabbing him by the front of his shirt to kiss him again before he could answer the question. It lasted much longer than their first. Tinsley hadn’t experienced kissing a man before the series of unfortunate events that had resulted in what his life was like now. It was different to say the least. The women he had kissed were chaste and gentle. Ricky was not, his hands grabbing aggressively at Tinsley’s face like he was still trying to fight him with affections. The feeling of stubble scratching against his own was foreign, but it wasn’t the worst thing he had experienced. Tinsley was silent for a moment after their lips parted, struggling to remember what he’d been about to say. He noticed the tinge of pink on Ricky’s cheeks as he stared at him and almost felt bad for what he was doing. He had to summon all the images of bloodied women on his caseboard to his mind, what Goldsworth had been doing so unapologetically, for the sense of guilt to leave him.

             “He’s a drug dealer, real bad news. I’d do it myself, but-” That disgusting, uncomfortably expressive grin crossed Ricky’s face again before Tinsley could finish his sentence. 

“But?” Ricky asked, his eyebrows raised. The shiteating expression on the other man’s face brought Tinsley’s subconscious disgust with what he was doing, with kissing the man again, bubbling to the surface. The smug way Goldsworth was looking at him, waiting him to finish his sentence, made him angry. How quickly he went from bashful and overwhelmed to arrogant and cocky was giving Tinsley whiplash. He went to stand up, trying to get away from Ricky to keep himself from clocking him in the face, when Ricky grabbed him by the arm.

           “Oooh, no no no,” Ricky said drunkenly, staring at Tinsley with all the intensity he could muster. It was mildly intimidating, but it was obvious the man was pretty out of it by this point. Tinsley sat back down.

“I  _ really  _ want to hear this”. Tinsley felt his face grow hot with anger, though the drinks he had had weren’t helping. He knew he was losing control of the situation but he stayed silent. He really didn’t want to give Goldsworth what he wanted.

“You,” Ricky pointed at him, “You think I’m talented. You think I’m  _ good  _ at killing people”.

           Ricky grabbed Tinsley by his hair, pulling his face close to his own again. Tinsley winced. Oh boy was this getting out of hand, this was not what he was hoping for at all. 

“Ooh, poor me, little Cecil,” Goldsworth cooed, mocking him. “I’m such a good detective, but now I have no leads on my case so I’m just gonna cry a lot and make everything about me”.

“Fuck you,” Tinsley spat out. He felt like he was going to vomit at the feeling of Ricky’s hot breath on his face and the way he kept staring at his lips. 

            “Look,” Ricky murmured, letting go of the man’s hair to caress his face. “I’m willing to help you, but I  _ really  _ need to hear you say it”. The way he spoke made Tinsley’s skin crawl. The idea that Goldsworth might be getting off on this honestly made him want to kill himself right then and there, circumstance be damned. Tinsley struggled to meet the man’s eyes, clenching his jaw and looking away.

“I-” Ricky cut him off.

“I’m sorry, Cecil, you’re really going to need to speak up”. Tinsley felt like he was going to cry, but raised his voice nonetheless.

“I think you’re good at-” Tinsley sighed, feeling like he was betraying himself, “At what you do”.

            It felt like the words had burned his mouth as soon as they had left him. He didn’t deserve to be a cop. Tinsley didn’t know whether or not he meant it, which was what terrified him the most. Ricky smiled and patted his cheek, looking at him with pride. Tinsley stood from the couch and Ricky didn’t stop him this time. He grabbed their glasses and threw them into the sink a bit too aggressively. 

“I would be  _ honored _ , Tinsley. Anything you want, dear”.

“Yeah, whatever,” Tinsley grumbled in response. He scrawled the number for his new cellphone onto a pad of sticky notes and chucked it in Goldsworth’s direction. 

“Here’s my number, I’ll send you the details.” The exasperation in his voice was obvious. He pretended that he didn’t see Ricky smile at that. “I’m going to bed.”

“I’m too drunk to drive,” Ricky called after him as he headed for his bedroom, “I’m crashing on your couch”. Tinsley didn’t dignify him with a response, simply slamming the door of his bedroom shut and locking it behind him.

            The sheer amount of self-loathing his night with Goldsworth had resulted in threatened to engulf Tinsley as soon as he collapsed onto his bed. Sleep didn’t come quick or easy. His mouth still tasted foul from the man’s kiss and what he had said. The fact that he had locked his door didn’t fill Tinsley with a sense of safety. The unease that Ricky was still in his apartment kept his mind alert when all he wanted to do was fall into a drunken coma and forget everything that had happened. As Tinsley tossed and turned, he found himself questioning who had really ended up manipulating who.

           Tinsley awoke to the scent of eggs and immediate rage. He snatched a cigarette from the table next to his bed and lit it before venturing out of his bedroom. The sight of Ricky, whistling a tune and flipping eggs in a pan, tested his patience but he tried to control himself since he didn’t want to make the man change his mind on helping him. He puffed on his cigarette, staring at the shorter man.

“Why are you still here?” He asked, failing at keeping aggression from his voice. Ricky laughed but didn’t turn around to face him.

“Cecil, I’m not going to do some lame walk of shame out of your apartment before you’re awake if we didn’t even have sex.” Tinsley physically recoiled at the concept, grimacing.

“Fuck you,” he muttered, grabbing a glass of water to soothe the light hangover that bounced about his head.

“ _ Exactly _ ,” Ricky exclaimed, glancing at Tinsley over his shoulder with a coy smile. “Now stop being such a fucking grump ‘cause I’m makin’ breakfast”.

           The shorter man’s snark and assumption that he could do whatever he wanted in his apartment made Tinsley lose his patience. He stalked up to Ricky and snatched the pan out of his hand.

“Hey, what the fuck are you-” Tinsley dumped the eggs in the trash and threw the pan into the sink, fuming as he stared at Ricky. He felt satisfaction at the way the man’s face fell. Good, if Tinsley was constantly resigned to feeling terrible, the little asshole deserved to as well. Ricky frowned up at him.

“You know, that really wasn’t necessary. I was just trying to be nice”. Tinsley puffed on his cigarette, feeling like it was the only thing keeping him from smacking Goldsworth with the scalding pan.

           “Yeah, well, maybe we can have some fucking eggs once Romero’s dead, huh?”

“Fine,” Ricky replied, a bit quieter now. “I’ll leave but you really don’t have to be such an asshole all the time”. Images of beating Ricky to a pulp flashed through Tinsley’s mind. Really, he was the asshole? Tinsley felt that Ricky’s tendency to fly between moods and jump to violence so quickly really made him the asshole out of the two of them. He felt a sense of satisfaction in watching the man silently leave his apartment. Ricky shut the door gently behind him.

**⸫**

           When Tinsley got the message, he thought he’d be able to handle it. The night was quiet around him, one glass in his hand and one set against the tombstone in front of him. He knew he was getting a little too drunk to manage the drive home, but it was date night goddamnit. Tinsley cradled his drink gently against his chest.

“You wouldn’t believe the shit I’ve had to deal with recently, babe”. He let out a sigh and glanced at the stars in the sky above him for a fleeting moment. Tears threatened his eyes, but he shoved them back the best he could.

           “Would you believe me if I said there were multiple people who want to kill me? That I’ll never be able to solve my case?” Tinsley fell silent for a moment, clearing his throat to keep his voice from cracking.

“I’m really a mess without you here”. Okay, admitting that out loud made his eyes flood. “I didn’t mean to, Sara, I really didn’t. I was angry, sure, but-” He sniffled and felt pathetic.

“I really wish you were here to right my ship, Sara. I’m not proud of what I’m doing and I’m worried about where my life is heading”.

           Tinsley fell silent for a moment, head hung low. He could barely bring himself to recognize the things he had done recently. How was he supposed to admit it to her? Tinsley gripped his drink tighter to cease the tremor in his hands. His phone dinged in his pocket and it caught him off guard. He didn’t know who could be contacting him at this hour.

“S-sorry, just a moment, Sara,” Tinsley mumbled drunkenly as he fished it from his pocket.

           When he opened the message, Tinsley felt the blood drain from his face. He lurched forward onto his hands and knees, the contents of his stomach emptying onto the grass beside him. It was from Ricky, of course. No sane person would contact him at this hour, let alone with a photo of a man with his throat roughly slashed. It was followed by cheeky selfie, Goldsworth bloody and grinning. That made it hit Tinsley twice as hard. He not only had had a man killed, but was actively enabling the man he had been trying to put in prison. So much for justice. His tears flowed uncontrollably.

           “ _ Fuck _ , I’m-I’m in over my head, Sara,” Tinsley stuttered weakly as his phone fell from his limp hand. His voice caught in his throat as sobs racked his chest.

“I’ve done horrible things, Sara. None of this would have happened if you were here”. He held out his hands towards his wife’s headstone, his voice cracking weakly as he spoke. His eyes fixated on the headstone, staring expectantly. The lack of a response, no consolation, no advice made his chest ache like it had the day she left him. Tinsley stood shakily from the ground, his frustration mounting. His pain-stricken voice raised to a yell, desperation overtaking him.

“ _ What the fuck am I supposed to do now _ ? I’m going to jail, I’ve gotten a man killed!” Tinsley took a thick swig from the bottle that had laid forgotten beside him. “I deserve to be in jail”.

           He was still waiting. He was waiting for something, anything, for her to tell him he wasn’t terrible and that things would be alright. But when no such response came, he felt himself begin to pant. He felt alone, trapped in his life, and desperate for a way out. Tinsley felt his frustration mounting, a sob escaping him as he pitched the bottle at Sara’s headstone. It shattered to pieces, scattering to the ground around them. The alcohol that had been left inside glistened as it slowly dripped along the stone. Still his wife said nothing, the silence that surrounded Tinsley echoing louder than any sound could.


End file.
